I scan the room, looking for my clothes and feeling a near-panic attack starting. I get out of bed and tiptoe around it, expecting to find my dress and underwear scattered on the floor, but there’s nothing. Where the hell are my clothes!
Okay, calm down, calm down.
There has to be a reasonable explanation for this, and why am I tiptoeing?
“Breathe. Just breathe,” I tell myself, taking a deep breath.
“Please do. If you pass out, I don’t know CPR.”
His voice makes the hairs on my neck stand up. I turn to see him leaning in the doorway, arms folded across his bare chest, pajama pants resting a little below his hips, and on his face is that same amused grin from the day I met him. A grin spreads across my own. I let out a sigh of relief until I realize the only thing I’m wearing is a smile. I quickly grab the sheet from the bed and wrap it around myself.
“Um, I—good morning,” I finally manage to say.
“Good morning.” I can hear him holding in a laugh, and he bites his lips.
“You’re laughing at me.” I chuckle at how ridiculous I must look, depending on how long he might have been standing there.
“A little bit,” he admits, walking toward me.
With each step, I grow more nervous in the best way possible. His hair is tousled but almost perfectly so. His skin looks amazing in the sunlight, and his eyes are showcasing their green hue. I remind myself I’m twenty-one, not fourteen, and command my big-girl voice to make an appearance.
“Well, you did hide my clothes,” I retort as he sits on the bed in front of me.
“As good as you look without them…” He gives my entire body a once-over. “I didn’t hide them. I sent them to the laundry.” He rests his weight on his elbows, his eyes staring up at me playfully.
That’s a relief. If he wanted me gone super fast, I reason, he wouldn’t have done that. I breathe a little easier. “Thank you.” My eyes rest on my feet.
“You’re shy?” He chuckles and stands up from the bed.
Is it that obvious? Ugh, stop acting like a spaz.
“A little,” I admit, laughing at myself.
I want to tell him I’m only shy around him but decide not to. He steps closer to me. My heart beats faster with each step.
“Not what you expected?” I say, wishing, at this moment, that I had more experience with this kind of thing.
He looks down at me, and his smile softens. “I’m just surprised.” His chest touches mine, and I instinctively step backward. “After everything you let me do to you last night…” He closes the distance between us, bites his bottom lip, and beams down at me.
I know I’m turning every imaginable shade of red. “I think you like making me nervous,” I say, my back now against the wall and his arms on both sides of me.
“No. I just like getting you all worked up,” he says and leans down, bringing his lips only an inch away from mine. His breath smells like mint and his skin like vanilla, and I realize mine doesn’t.
I slip underneath his arm, and he’s caught off guard. “Can I use your shower?” I ask, smiling at his surprise.
“Is that an invitation?” he asks, walking past me into what I assume is his bathroom.
He gestures toward it, and I follow. Once I’m in the doorway, a wicked grin appears on his face. I feel my stomach drop at the gesture. But whether he knows it or not, I’m too sore to even contemplate what he’s hinting at.
“Privacy?” He laughs, and I nod gratefully. He steps back, but not before his hand slides down my back and he squeezes my butt. I playfully roll my eyes at him, demanding my body to behave. “Too bad.” He sighs before slipping out.
When he’s gone, my mouth almost drops. The bathroom is huge, almost bigger than my bedroom. It’s stone gray and navy blue, matching the hues of Cal’s bedroom. There’s a deep stone tub in the center, and adjacent to that is a shower with two heads and a clear glass surround. There are his-and-hers sinks with faucets that flow down like a fountain. This place just gets better and better.
Body towels and face towels are neatly stacked on a bench. There’s a little cup on the sink next to what I assume is mouthwash, but the bottle matches the bathroom decor. I open it and smell the cap to make sure it’s the mint I noticed earlier. As I contemplate whether to shut the door or not, I peek into the bedroom and see that Cal’s nowhere in sight.
I swish the wash around in my mouth. It’s minty with a mix of something else I can’t put my finger on, but it’s mild, unlike the burning kind my aunt used to buy. When I’m done, I make my way into the shower. When I turn it on, I’m startled when the showerhead behind me sprinkles down my back. Once I figure out the settings, the shower is absolute heaven. I’m a little excited about smelling like Cal throughout the day, after using his body wash and shampoo. They both have the exact right hint of vanilla for him to smell good but retain his masculinity.
After I dry off, I wrap the towel around my body and head into the bedroom, which is still empty. I look at the bed, hoping he might have left me a shirt to put on, but there’s nothing.
I head down the stairs and hear a television on. Cal’s at the fridge, a container of orange juice in hand. Wearing an amused smirk, he glances over me.
“Pulp or no pulp?” he asks, shutting the fridge.
“No pulp.” I chuckle as I sit on the side of the island that’s closest to me.
“Good choice,” he says, pouring me a cup and setting it in front of me.
Before grabbing it, I secure my towel to make sure it will stay. I notice him laughing, and he shakes his head disapprovingly.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he says, amused, the fridge hiding him. “How was your shower?” He at last appears with a bowl. When he sets it down, I see it contains cut-up fruit, all kinds.
“It was wonderful. I definitely have shower envy,” I admit before popping a piece of cantaloupe in my mouth.
He takes a grape, does the same, and sits across from me. I grab another piece of fruit and make sure my towel is still in place. He leans over on the island and tilts his head slightly to the right.
“You should take the towel off,” he says, his eyes beaming at me.
I bite my tongue instead of the fruit.
Ugh! “What?”
I laugh in disbelief at what he just said.
“What’s so funny?” he asks with a wry grin.
“It’s just how casually you said that and how serious you sounded,” I joke.
“I am serious,” he says, resting his chin in his hand. His eyes set on mine, making me shift in my seat.
“I’m sorry. I’m not going to sit in your kitchen completely naked.” I laugh off my nervousness. He can’t be serious.
He stands and walks around the counter. He’s heading toward me, and with each step, my heart pounds faster. I swallow as he rounds the corner of the island, turning in my direction, and I suddenly feel as though I’m prey and he’s the hunter. But the doorbell rings, the spell is broken, and he lets out a breath. He makes a beeline to the door, pointing at me as he walks away.
“Saved by the bell, gorgeous,” he says, a residual smile on his face. A moment later, he’s back with two containers. He hands me one before making his way to the other side of the island. “You were still asleep when I ordered, so I got pancakes and bacon, because who wouldn’t like that?”
The aroma when I open the container is tantalizing, and I have to stop myself from grabbing a piece of bacon and stuffing it in my mouth. I glance at him as he stuffs a strip of bacon in his.
As we eat, I try not to stare at him. I keep trying to figure out this enigma sitting in front of me. He’s young, but this house is decorated with the taste of someone older. He’s straightforward, but sometimes it seems as though he wants to say something but doesn’t. He’s seductive but has a boyish charm to him—well, that disappears when he squints a little and lust clouds his eyes. He’s blunt but mysterious about simple things. He seems to want me to be more assertive but is turned on by my reticence.
“What’s going on in that head of yours, Ms. Brooks?” he asks, squinting at me as he finishes off his piece of toast.
“You want me to be honest?” I ask bluntly.
“Always,” he says, just as bluntly.
“I—I guess I’m trying to figure you out.
This
out,” I admit.
He stretches his arms over his head, and for a moment, I’m distracted by his muscular physique.
“This?” he asks.
“This whole awkward, day-after-the-night-with-a-guy-I-don’t-really-know-how-to-act-around,” I ramble.
“The only thing awkward is you trying to eat and keep that towel up.”
I frown at his playfulness then decide to lay it all out on the table. “You’re the first guy I’ve ever done this with. And I know it sounds cliché, saying I’m not that type of girl, but it’s true, and I’m not sure what the etiquette is for ‘this.’ I don’t know what to make of you. I kind of thought you’d be hiding somewhere this morning, waiting for me to leave or something.” I take a deep breath and glance at him nervously, not knowing what he’s going to do next.
“So you think I’m an asshole?” He laughs boisterously and plants his elbow on the counter. I’m caught off guard by that.
“No, I-I didn’t say that.” I’m a little embarrassed. I didn’t really consider he’d take that as an insult.
“You pretty much do, if you think I’d sleep with you then hide from you in my own house. That would make me an asshole
and
a coward.” He counts on his fingers with a grin.
“Okay, I’m sorry. But I’m just trying to figure you out,” I admit, feeling more than embarrassed.
“It’s okay. I’m sure this won’t be the last time you think I’m an asshole,” he says, tossing out his now-empty container.
I feel my eyebrow rise.
“Well, unless you just planned on screwing me and never calling again,” he adds with an almost-knowing smile.
This time, it’s my turn to finish up the rest of my orange juice.
“It’s not that. I just…” I let out a deep sigh. “I like you, and I’d feel a little better about myself if I knew more about you,” I tell him honestly.
He’s leaning back on the island. “Okay.” He shrugs one shoulder. “What do you want to know?”
“For starters, how old are you? Um, how do you like your eggs? What’s your middle name, your favorite color, and what do you do for a living?” I say, rattling off questions to which I usually know the answers before I drop my panties for a guy.
“Twenty-six, scrambled hard, I don’t have one, black, and I am a liaison between Public Relations and Research and Development at Crestfield Corporation.” He rattles off the answers just as quickly. “Now it’s my turn. Are you always this neurotic after sex?” He laughs and my eyes widen.
“I’m not neurotic. I just—I usually know these things before I have sex with someone,” I retort.
“How many guys have you had sex with?” he asks, way too simply for such a personal question.
“Why?” I ask, feeling my defenses rise.
“It seems like you don’t have sex that often, that’s all.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re a little uptight about all of this.” He chuckles, unaffected by the anger in my tone.
“You’re kind of being a jerk right now,” I say sharply, and he grins.
“I answered all of your questions, and you haven’t answered any of mine,” he counters. “I don’t feel like you’re allowing me to really know
you
,” he adds sarcastically.
I roll my eyes and take a deep breath. “I’ve been with three men, and I just had sex last night, for your info.” I say the last part equally sarcastically.
He leans over the island, his eyes narrowing on mine. In an instant, his smile has gone from playful and aloof to dangerously sexy. “How was it?” His tone has deepened, and he’s looking me directly in the eye.
My frustration with him starts to dissipate. “Amazing,” I breathe.
After an intense stare-off, his smile widens. “Well, do you feel okay to like me now?” he asks in an almost condescending tone. His wide grin softens.
I bite my lip, internally arguing with myself, even though that boat has sailed and the deed’s been done.
“I’m not going to lie. I can be an asshole. I can probably be worse than that, but I don’t talk out of my ass. I like you, and I meant everything I said last night. So don’t spend the rest of the day wondering if I’m genuine or not. I’m a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them.”
He says all of this casually, but with it, I feel as if a weight has been lifted off my chest. I bite my thumb, letting everything Cal’s just said sink in.
“Still think I’m a jerk?”
I nod. “Maybe just little bit of a jerk.”
With that amused grin again, he stands and makes his way over to me. I let out a much needed breath and turn toward him on my barstool. He parts my legs, making the towel rise a bit over my thighs. He stands between them.
“Good, because I am. And I still think you’re a little bit neurotic,” he says, bringing his lips to mine and his hands to the knot in my towel.
I push his chest away playfully. He looks into my eyes, still grinning.